As she walked across the brickyard, she felt herself settling. Maybe it was the routine; maybe it was the familiarity. It didn’t matter, not really.
She went inside D. H. Hill Library and went up to the second floor. She walked through the east wing and then the west wing. She went to the study carrels. She stroked shelves and paused at water fountains. It was all about the anchors. It was all about order.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Cillian was behind her; her new temptation was right there in reach.
“Nothing.”
“Really? So why were you at Brennan’s warehouse the other morning? Why are you here tonight? Brennan’s a factor somewhere here, Eavan. I just don’t know how.”
Eavan bowed her head. If Cillian knew about Daniel, Nyx would know, too. Unless she already does. “How did you know where I went?”
“GPS.”
“Did you install it?” she asked, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer.
“No,” Cillian admitted. “They were preinstalled.”
Eavan paused. “They?”
She’d really thought that the car was tracker-free. Her mechanic hadn’t removed anything the last time. He’d pronounced her car “clean.” He’d lied.
“Your car, phone, the red jacket…”
Eavan schooled her face as she turned and said, “Shh.”
“What are you doing?” Cillian repeated, softer this time in deference to their location.
For a heartbeat, she considered telling him, giving him the answers she’d never spoken to anyone. Instead, she said, “Walking.”
“Walking. Driving. Going in and out of libraries. Aimlessly pacing sidewalks…” He stepped closer, moving into her personal space as if such a thing was acceptable “At least you don’t have a pattern. I can’t imagine how your potential stalker could—”
“That is my pattern, Mr. Owens.” She spoke evenly, forcing emotion to stay in check. She’d need to be more careful; she’d need to figure out how to cope with the cage that was tightening around her—but not now, not when she was still feeling unsettled. She stared at Cillian and said, “I drive. I walk. It’s how I make the world make sense.”
“Well, next time, you’ll take me with you.” Cillian looked frazzled. “You drive like you’re invulnerable. I thought you were going to get killed coming off the interchange.”
She didn’t have the heart to ask which interchange. She didn’t recall parts of the drive. It was the anchors—red brick, cold metal shelf—that mattered. That was the world.
“I’m going home,” she told him.
“Please, Eavan, I need you to try to cooperate.” Cillian’s expression was about as frayed as her emotions had been. “Even if you don’t think you’re in danger, Nyx does. Slipping away from me puts us both in danger.”
“I’m going home,” she repeated. “I needed air. Now, I need sleep.”
For a moment, she thought Cillian was going to say more, but instead he nodded. “I’m driving. The car will stay here.”
And Eavan was too shaky to fight him. She didn’t hand over the keys, but she did walk quietly to his car with him.
7
Eavan stayed in her apartment for the next three days. She’d called and quit her job without notice; being around mortals right now was untenable. Of course, being around Others wasn’t a good idea, either. Nyx had been tracking her; the older glaistig knew something was going on. Eavan couldn’t risk going out, couldn’t face talking to Nyx, and couldn’t be sure she had the resolve to resist killing Daniel. She was trapped by her own biology. Her inability to deal with hunting Daniel was wearing on her. Cillian’s kindness only made matters worse. Being trapped with him, a temptation always in reach, was slowly wearing away whatever control she still had left.
“I called the grocery to deliver food. Your kitchen was barren.” He stood in her doorway, not crossing the threshold, but clearly expecting her to let him in. “Eavan?”
She blinked at him, aware that she’d been staring. He had the loveliest green flecks in his eyes. And kissable lips…
She turned sharply and walked away. “I was fine with takeout.”
She ordered; he accepted the delivery in the hall, and once the delivery people left, he knocked on her door. Not that he needed to knock. She was watching through the peephole every time.
“Groceries are being delivered here. Just go in the bedroom when they arrive and—”
“I’m not in danger from delivery guys,” she snapped. Being housebound was not getting easier. Knowing it was self-imposed wasn’t helping, either. “I’m not in danger from any…” She started coughing. The words weren’t ones she could force out: they were a lie.
He stepped closer. “Why are you—”
“Fuck it,” she muttered.
And then she pinned him to the wall.
It wasn’t her first kiss; it wasn’t even the first time she’d lost control this badly. She had a leg hitched around him, pressing herself against his responding body, trying not to grind against him—and failing. He’d wrapped an arm around her, supporting her weight. A gentleman even now…
With decided effort, she pulled back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Eavan?” Cillian looked stunned.
“I’m sorry.” She backed up, bumping into a small bookshelf in the process, sending paperbacks crashing to the floor.
He reached out to touch her face. “It’s okay. You’re under pressure and…it’s okay.”
Eavan ran to her bedroom while Cillian let the delivery guy into the apartment. She could hear his muffled voice, like a siren’s song in her safe harbor. She stood with one hand palm-flat on the bedroom door and the other on the knob. Hunting Daniel had made both hungers all-consuming. For the first time in years, Eavan wasn’t sure she could stop herself from losing control of at least one appetite. Sex is safer. She hadn’t killed anyone; she could bring Cillian to her bed. It was safe.
It’s not.
She could wrap her body around his.
And have just a taste of his breath during. I could stop. Just a taste…
She’d started to turn the knob when the phone rang. She walked over to the bed and lifted her phone from the night table.
“Eve?” Daniel asked. “How are you?”
She sat on the edge of the mattress. Her hands were shaking. “Daniel? How did you get my number?”
“Come see me, Eve.” He paused just long enough that she could hear hesitance. “I miss you.”
“No.” She closed her eyes, wrapped one hand around the bedpost, and tried to focus. It wasn’t working. Her whole body shook.
“Do you want to talk to Chastity?”
Eavan’s heart thundered loud enough that it roared in her ears, but her voice was whisper-quiet. “What?”
“One of the girls…not the same Chastity. Just another mindless doll…right here in my arms…waiting for a rescue.” He murmured to someone who moaned into the phone. “She’s a co-ed. Well, she was…”
“What are you doing?” Eavan squeezed the bedpost until the wood cracked and cut her palm, stinging as blood slid between her fingers and trickled down the dark wood. “You can’t do this…Let her go.”
“Come see me, Eve. I’ll be at Chaos tonight.” Then he disconnected before she could reply.
Eavan slowly unwrapped her fingers from the splintered wood of her bedpost. A sliver of wood was embedded in her skin. She stared at it as she sat quietly, trying to force her mind to process Daniel’s challenge.
She dialed the only person she could be almost honest with. “Muriel?”
“What’s wrong?”
Eavan explained, and then she waited. There was no judgment, no leash that followed. The vampire said only: “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Get dressed.”
Even though Muriel was too kind to say it, Eavan knew she was making a mistake, but staying here was a mistake, too. Her body was screaming for something. It didn’t matter which urge she fed. St
aying near Cillian isn’t an option. She was too tempted before Daniel’s call; now her body was thrumming like something feral.
The delivery guy was still out there. That made it safer to slip out of the room, to walk past him. It was the best opening she could hope for.
Steeling herself, Eavan opened her door and went to take a cold shower. She didn’t look at him, didn’t step nearer him, although she could feel his gaze on her.
After a painfully cold shower, she went back to her room and got dressed.
Cillian was at the bedroom door. He had been for several minutes. “Eavan? Can we talk? Maybe you’re feeling too housebound. We can—”
She opened her window. An alarm went off.
Ten minutes left.
Cillian tried the knob. “Damn it. What are you doing?”
Don’t answer. Just go out the window.
She stood looking at the window and then at the door. He was jimmying the lock.
“How in the hell am I to keep you safe if—” He opened the door. “What are you doing?”
“Stay back. Please?” She looked at him, too close and too kind. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
He crossed the room and started to close the window. “If you don’t cooperate, I can’t keep you safe. We’ve talked about this. If it’s the kiss…” Frustration weighed in his voice, his movements, his everything. “It’s okay, Eavan. We can pretend it didn’t happen. People react differently to stress, and…it’s not a big deal.”
Not prey.
He was too close though.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s okay. I told you that.” Cillian turned to face her. He was not even three steps away.
She stared at his mouth. Just another taste. The tip of her tongue darted out.
He froze, but he didn’t run. “It’s okay.”
She wasn’t sure if he was giving her permission or still forgiving her. It didn’t really matter. She closed the space between them. It was all she could do to speak, but she warned him: “You should run now.”
He didn’t move.
So she kissed him. She had both legs around him, and he walked forward until she felt the wall behind her.
She pushed herself tighter to him. “More.” She pressed her lips back to his, lifted herself up enough that she could reach between them and unbutton his jeans. Her skirt was around her hips, leaving only her underwear between them. She ripped it away; the sound of tearing cloth brought an encouraging sound from Cillian.
They were on the floor. She was straddling him, moments from crossing the line she swore she would not cross.
Better sex than murder.
She pulled away and looked down at him.
I could swallow his final breath as he…
She lowered herself onto him and shuddered. Sex and death, all at once, she could have it all. She licked her lips and leaned forward.
“Eavan!” Suddenly, Muriel was there, pulling her backward. The small vampire was more than a match for Eavan.
Muriel pulled Eavan off Cillian.
Eavan hissed. Muriel slapped her.
Cillian looked dazed. He scrambled to his feet, naked and somehow already aiming a gun at Muriel.
“Get in the car,” Muriel said, or perhaps repeated, if the way she bit off each word was any indication. She stayed like a guard between Cillian and Eavan. “And tell him who I am, Evvie, before he tries to shoot me.”
“Friend,” Eavan forced out. Forming words just then was a trial, but she did it. “Muriel’s a friend. I called her.”
Cillian lowered his gun.
Eavan’s gaze followed the lowering weapon and fell on Cillian’s very beautiful naked, just-out-of-reach body. She tried to step around Muriel. “I’m fine here.”
Muriel sighed. “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Owens, but until she’s thinking clearly, it’s for the best.”
Then she punched him.
8
Eavan had a violent case of the shakes by the time she was a mile away from her apartment. It was a little mortifying to think that Muriel had seen her so out of control with a human, but at least she had been there to stop Eavan.
“I owe you,” she said, not looking at Muriel yet.
“Sweetie,” Muriel drawled, “you always owe me for something or other. You just count yourself lucky that I don’t call in all those chits.”
“Why did you stop me?” Eavan had heard Muriel’s lectures on “giving in” often enough that she was a little surprised.
Muriel glanced over at her, taking her eyes off the road long enough that it gave Eavan a pleasant shiver of danger. When Muriel looked back at the road, she answered, “When you choose to cross those lines, I’m good with it, but it’s not my place to help you cross them…unless you decide in advance…preferably with me along for the ride.” She flashed a fanged grin at Eavan.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be woman enough for you,” Eavan admitted.
Muriel laughed, not cruelly, but in that way that made clear that she knew secrets that the rest of the world could only guess at. “I’ll be gentle the first time…although I’m not so sure that’s what you’re looking for. You came near to breaking your mortal.”
“I’m mortal, too.” Eavan wasn’t sure of it just then; she felt pretty far from mortal after the way she’d thrown herself at Cillian. The words, the reminder—to herself and to Muriel—were important though. “I’m still mortal.”
“You are, sweetie.” Muriel reached over and squeezed her head. “You haven’t killed anyone, and I don’t know if that was sex enough to count.”
Eavan and Muriel had discussed what constituted “sex” often enough, but there weren’t any clear answers. Things Other were notoriously prone to loopholes, semantics, and arguments of intention. If she considered it true sex, would it be? Or was it the definition of the matriarch? Or was it the interpretation of some long dead ancestor? Eavan had no answers, but she did know that she needed to tread extra carefully the next month. Just in case. One month without murder—usually that wouldn’t sound so impossible.
“Help me stop Daniel?” Eavan stared out the window into the dimly lit parking lot of the Chaos Factory. Somewhere out there, her prey waited.
“It’s a trap.” Muriel pulled in and zipped around the line of cars to go to the valet stand. “You know that, right?”
“I do.” Eavan accepted a hand as she slid out of Muriel’s Vanquish.
Muriel walked around the car and wrapped an arm around Eavan. Then she caught and held the valet’s gaze.
“Don’t joyride,” she warned. Her fangs appeared just long enough to scare the valet. “If any of you so much as stroke the car, you’re dinner.”
The valet shuddered. He wouldn’t remember the words, or seeing the fangs, but he would take good care of Muriel’s car.
“This is a bad idea, Eavan.” Muriel motioned at the club. “Going in there when you’re like this is a really bad idea.”
“I need to get the girl out,” Eavan insisted. “I can handle it.”
Silently, Muriel walked past Eavan.
She didn’t need vampire powers to charm the doorman. She skipped the line and went to stand in front of him. Eavan followed. Muriel wrapped an arm around her again. This time, though, she stroked her fingers over Eavan’s hip.
Eavan gasped. “Muriel…”
As Eavan leaned in to Muriel’s caress, she felt the doorman and innumerable mortals in the waiting line respond to the tease of a show.
Not as much as I am.
“Shhh, sweetie,” Muriel whispered in her ear. “We’ll be able to dance in a sec.” To the doorman, she added in a low whisper, “My girl’s in a bit of a mood. Can we skip the line? She’s not much of an exhibitionist unless the music’s on.”
The doorman grinned and motioned them inside.
They stopped just inside the door. Muriel’s hand slid up and across the small of Eavan’s back. “This is where we are, Ev. You’re not in any s
hape to be here.”
“Staying here.” Eavan swallowed. She fisted her hands, driving small half moons into her palms. “I’ve been almost as bad before.”
“Not in years.”
“I can do this.” Eavan forced the craving back as hard as she could. “Please, Muriel?”
Muriel shook her head, but she asked, “Tell me the ground rules.”
“Don’t let Daniel take me anywhere. Get the girl out.” Eavan leaned against a wall, feeling the onslaught of music, the thrum of sexual energy, the lure of prey in the club. “No sex with anyone. Knock my ass out if you need to.”
“Anything up to that point or nothing at all?” Muriel forced Eavan to look at her.
“Nothing with anyone but you. If I need…if…” Eavan hated to ask Muriel to be her crutch. “I don’t want to hurt…you’re strong.”
Muriel laughed. “Woe is me.”
“We’re friends.” Eavan would hate herself if Muriel actually attached emotion to sex. They’d pushed a few barriers over the years though, so it wasn’t unheard of. Muriel was the closest to sex Eavan had been.
Until tonight.
“I’m here.” Muriel’s teasing vanished. “Just like old times, right? I get all the fun, and you refuse to enjoy yourself.”
Eavan laughed. “I plead the Fifth…actually…” She took Muriel’s hand and led the way to one of the bars. “Redbreast. Triple shot. Neat.”
The bartender looked at Muriel.
“Crown, rocks, with a splash.” She paused and looked behind her as if the man standing there was with them. “And a vodka tonic, neat.”
“That was mean,” Eavan whispered. “I hate vodka.”
Muriel sighed. “Vodka’s mine, sweets. You can have my whiskey.”